


Love the house, also the crow.

by bluegrass



Category: Bleach, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Ambitious I know, Crack no more because plot now, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Ichigo is just super done, Kisuke and Wei Ying are inventor bros, Lan 'I've pined for 130 years' Wangji, M/M, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Shinigami Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Visored Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wei Ying is a ray of sunshine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-01-31 07:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21442477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: “Let them go,” the stoic man said with neither cheer nor sorrow. Byakuya looked appalled, if Ichigo didn’t say so himself. “Lan-taicho,” the Kuchiki repeated almost bitterly, Senbonzakura’s petals lowering as his hands fell to his sides.“The clan’s rules are sacred. Rukia’s execution cannot be rescinded. You of all people should understand when you have done the same. To side with the Ryoka-!”“No,” Lan Wangji cut him off mercilessly.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo & Urahara Kisuke, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Kurosaki Ichigo, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn & Kurosaki Ichigo, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn & Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 155
Kudos: 482





	1. 一

Of all the eccentric personalities Ichigo has had the opportunity to meet and fight to rescue Rukia, Ichigo could safely say that one man stood out. Admittedly, the memory had not stood out in particular during the climax of the invasion, but it had been impressionable because Ichigo’s body could be said to have been saved from nasty injuries from that person’s intervention alone. 

Mind delirious from the adrenaline of battle, diverted into a single-minded determination to forge forward and protect those dear to him, Ichigo simply wasn’t capable enough to spare too much thought into the unexpected fortune that fell onto his lap. Because even though Rukia was technically tossed away from harm’s way the skin of her teeth, it was then Ichigo’s turn to escape alive.

The thin blade from the man’s sword had been timely in its interception. Between Byakuya’s minute scowl and the sparks from his Zangetsu as they clashed, Ichigo had only seconds to catch a glimpse of the newest addition to their battle. The very handsome addition.

A pair of golden eyes met his own and Ichigo had immediately skidded backwards at the unknown threat wearing a snow white ribbon engraved with stylised cloud tied around his forehead, holding an expression like smooth jade. Ichigo cursed from the sole fact he couldn’t feel a single drop of Reiatsu leak from the guy’s body. 

Like Urahara. 

_ Dangerous. _

His equally white haori was as impeccably pristine as Byakuya’s; perfectly by the textbook and missing any unnecessary creases. Ichigo couldn’t help but compare the two for a split second. 

They shared the same stone masks. The same neatness. The same practiced and natural grace. Same long, inky hair that the actresses in hair ads would die for too. If anything, the man did not give out an air of pride that made Ichigo’s teeth itched while Kuchiki did. 

_Who was this? Was he an enemy, ally?_ A quick glimpse of the number 5 printed stark against the whiteness of the man’s haori aroused waves of weariness over Ichigo. Vaguely, he remembered something about Aizen belonging to the same division. 

Byakuya’s expression broke, something other than disdain and ice loosening the stiffness of his facial muscles. “Lan-taicho,” He nodded in polite greeting, shoulders leaning forward. If the situation were less dire, Ichigo might’ve gawked. He hadn’t known for the Kuchiki to be capable of expressing near reverential respect for someone when the weight of the clan’s pride could arguably sink flights of ships.

Nevertheless, Ichigo did not miss the slight tinge of disbelief and admiration in Byakuya’s tone. The surprise and later irritation that he was expecting to steal Byakuya’s attention anytime soon, surprisingly, never came. And it was also at this time, their surroundings had turned quieter since the presence of the Fifth Division Captain. 

“It’s been ages, Lan Wangji!” Yoruichi’s glee could be heard over the sudden drop in sound. Soifon as well, whose head bowed, eyes darting downwards as her knees sunk almost instinctively. Ichigo’s blood was gushing so loudly in his head that he’d barely heard it. “Mn,” the man - Lan Wangji nodded in return. To Byakuya or Yoruichi or both, Ichigo didn’t really care. He swung his blade, crescents of an abyss wrapped in red lightning slicing through the air.

Lan Wangji easily dodged the attack, his sword sheathed back by his side. 

_ Fuck, _ Ichigo thought. Should he have escaped instead? Ossan’s low warning had his temples throbbing from stress. 

“Let them go,” the stoic man said with neither cheer nor sorrow. Byakuya looked appalled, if Ichigo didn’t say so himself. “Lan-taicho,” the Kuchiki repeated almost bitterly, Senbonzakura’s petals lowering with when his hands fell to his sides.

“The clan’s rules are sacred. Rukia’s execution cannot be rescinded. You of all people should understand when you have done the same. To side with the Ryoka-!”

“No,” Lan Wangji cut him off mercilessly. 

Ichigo’s feet shifted, already ready to get the hell out of the strangely suffocating tension. 

“Do not make the same mistakes as I,” he continued solemnly. And Ichigo shot off immediately - the Hollow inside his mindscape cackling the whole while. But if Byakuya had looked furious due to his escape or the betrayal by the Lan guy, Ichigo couldn’t tell. He only knew that Senbonzakura’s target was now away from him and aimed towards the man who he couldn’t imagine smiling.

Finally would Ichigo catch up with the others, thus leading towards a battle with Aizen that he was thankful to leave alive from. 

Beaten down and maybe flickering between another plane not belonging to even the dead themselves, Lan Wangji was not seen from then on. For better or for worse, Ichigo soon returned to the living world for the memory Lan Wangji’s act of odd compassion to surface some days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEIR SWORDS HAVE NAMES and you know what other swords have names? I HAVE NO REGRETS NONE.
> 
> If I have to suffer the unfairness of my muse screaming about this crossover for 2 hours straight before I put it on google doc, you do too.


	2. 二

Ichigo was lounging in Urahara Shoten when he asked Geta-boshi about the _kind_ samaritan whose presence could rival Rukia’s Zanpakuto of ice and snow and unrivalled beauty. 

Pouring himself a cup of tea, the popping sound of splashing liquid had paused in the loud silence of the empty shop. It had been noon on a Wednesday, whereupon students were busy with their extracurricular activities and so were Jinta and Ururu. Tessai was somewhere inside, no doubt, but considering how bad Ichigo was at Reiatsu sensing, the man might’ve been out buying groceries and Ichigo could not be more wrong.

Urahara’s hands shook slightly and Ichigo courteously looked away. They had history, at least, he silently concluded to himself. 

“Did you fight him, Kurosaki-kun?” 

Ichigo frowned at the lack of trademark cheeriness from him. “Was I not supposed to?”

Urahara flicked his fan open, hiding half his face while pulling on the edge of his striped hat so that it covered his grey eyes. “Actually,” he drawled slyly, the playful smirk suddenly seeping back into his words. “You should be thanking your lucky stars. Lan-taicho’s honour doesn’t allow him to hurt children, so I _ know _ you didn’t.”

“I’m not a child!” Ichigo hissed in offense.

“In his eyes, you are. Lan-taicho has lived longer than even me, Kurosaki-kun. You practically count as an infant!”

Ichigo huffed. Pulling out the substitute Shinigami badge and forcing his soul to part from his body. Garbed and armed, he walked past the older man and table, sliding the door open. “That’s not how it works,” Ichigo rolled his eyes and reminded gruffly, craning his neck:

“You said you’d train me.”

“Right away.” Kisuke stretched an arm, pointing forwards.

The thrill of battle came familiarly to him. Ichigo was powerful, but Kisuke was smarter and faster and they’d sparred for hours until the mountainous terrain caved deep enough snuggly stuff bodies inside. “Why’d he help us?” Ichigo yelled across the field when he’d retreated from a particularly powerful blow he barely avoided. 

He wouldn’t put it past Urahara to miss out on telling them about any allies. Just because it’d make their reactions more genuine for the script.

Benihime hummed, deflecting Zangetsu’s many cleaves meant to cut through the heavens. Kisuke put on a considering look and Ichigo grunted when he felt his legs tremble from the stress. Fatigue was starting to make his head foggy.

“Come sit with me,” Urahara smiled, stopping the match abruptly. He put down Benihime, releasing her from her Shikai. 

Ichigo’s pace was quick and curious. The two eventually settled in the healing hot springs after rinsing away their sweat and blood. A floating tray had been prepared - by Tessai’s homely spirit probably - and Ichigo caught the droplets of precipitation from his glass of cold milk while Urahara sipped on tea that looked too dark for any normal person to enjoy. 

“His birth name is Lan Zhan. Courtesy: Wangji. As you can tell, his clan wasn’t originally from here.”

“He has a clan?” Ichigo wondered out loud. Urahara squeezed the bright yellow rubber duck conjured from who knows where. “Indeed,” he said, the duck screaming loudly. “How smart of you pinpoint that. The Gusu Lan Clan is one of the Four Noble Families in Seireitei. Besides the Shihōin, Kuchiki, and Yunmeng Jiang. Their family is well known for their musical prowess. I’ve yet to get my hands on one, but it’s said that their songs can purify Plus Souls by the hundreds, calm Menos on a bad day, and vanquish Hollows with a short song. Under the conditions that the musician is skilled enough,” he ended wryly.

The water rippled and Ichigo’s eyes were then laid upon Yoruichi’s very naked figure soaking in the hot springs alongside them. He sputtered, cheeks flaming red from embarrassment _ for _the woman as she had none. “Yo, Ichigo.” Yoruichi ruffled his hair. “You talking about grouchy old Wangji? Let me chime in too!” 

Right. “You knew him pretty well? Yoruichi-san.” She had looked pretty happy to see Lan Wangji. The man gave away nothing, but Ichigo had also known him for 10 minutes or less so he couldn’t really say much. 

Yoruichi brightened. “We attended the academy together. He was three years above me. And believe it or not, even _ worse _than Byaku-bo at the time. No talking while eating, no running in the hallways; no alcohol in the dorms when we were well past 200 years old!”

A stickler for the rules, huh. Lan Wangji must’ve gotten mini heart attacks when he’d arrived at Seireitei; and Ichigo still caught nothing of the man until the very end during his visit.

“Only one person’s ever had the balls to openly oppose him. Hah-! Anyway, the Lan Clan was actually pretty close to the Kuchiki’s. So they had him babysit after Byaku-bo. The kid believed he hung the stars! Look at Byaku-bo now - the product of trying to act like Wangji for_ decades,_” Yoruichi said near hysterically, laughing heartily as she reminisced.

The image was rather frightening, at least. Ichigo couldn’t quite imagine a star-eyed Byakuya idolising someone to the point he tried acting like them until it stuck. The resemblance was undeniable, though. Must have been some adoration to willingly have a stick shoved up his ass for the rest of his life.

“Lan-taicho is a powerful and good man,” Urahara sighed dramatically. “If possible, I’d rather you avoid fighting him, Kurosaki-kun. You’re still young, so he probably won’t attack unless there isn’t any other choice either way. And that’s if you fight him first. If you see him next time, he will probably be your ally than enemy. He fights for what is right, last I heard. Don’t be afraid to rely on him.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me before you smuggled us in?” Ichigo asked incredulously. 

“He fights for what is right, but the Gotei treats betrayal unkindly. When he saved you, it was in full awareness of his history with Kuchiki-taicho. Anybody else, and you would've been on your own until the very last minute.”

Ichigo took in the somewhat morbid truth for what it was. Basically, he had to grow stronger so that would never have to happen. Waiting for somebody to save him simply wasn’t his kind of thing. “I didn’t see him at the infirmary,” Ichigo said, remembering Rukia. She had been Byakuya’s sister and he still spared nothing. Who’s to say about Lan Wangji? 

“The second jade of the Gusu Lan clan is well known for his skill in battle. Even without his Shikai, it’s hard to say if Kuchiki-taicho could have harmed him enough to bring him to the Fourth.”

The heat from the steam made Ichigo heady. There was something that wasn’t exactly right going on with Geta-boshi. Ichigo wasn’t sure how to describe it. In the first place, Urahara rarely ever gave out compliments so casually. 

“What’s up with you?” He poured the man another cup of tea. Urahara chugged down the iced liquid like alcohol. Yoruichi’s comforting hand on the blond’s shoulder told him many things. Most of them unpleasant. “You’re unsure,” Ichigo suddenly realised. 

Urahara sighed again and his best friend hid her grin.

“You trust this guy to some extent but you don’t know to what extent. Is he an ally when he wants to be, Geta-boshi? If he’s a good guy, why not just say so.”

“We can’t be sure.” Urahara’s normally sharp gaze dimmed. “He is, to an extent. I know he’ll help you, who he sees as a child. I know he’ll fight Aizen, who he’s purposely kept for observation under his thumb for centuries. I know he is good. I don’t know if he has or will forgive me for what I've done to him.”

Every sentence sounded more and more helpless. Ichigo recognised the tone. He’d received it not many days ago. In Urahara’s sincere apology as he knelt before him, leaving his neck and spine vulnerable. Ichigo could’ve cursed the man and blamed him for every wound he’d suffered in body and soul. He hadn’t.

He was willing to hear out why someone wouldn’t. Ichigo was well aware that his forgiveness was freely offered generously, not unlike the tissue packets that came with paper brochures on the streets. Stare as patient as could be, to be perfectly honest, Ichigo actually wasn’t expecting the man to answer the unsaid question at all. Urahara surprised him when he did. 

The carefree, devil may care facade dropped - or maybe it had always been a part of him - _ Kisuke _looked Ichigo dead in the eye and confessed.

“Why would he? When he’s lost the only person he’s ever loved because of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So much dialogue. 
> 
> I'm considering PoV changes? Else it's going to be real hard explaining what happened in the past. I've got most of it planned (somewhat??), but putting stuff on paper is just... _sigh._
> 
> Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this anyway. :)


	3. 三

For a while, life was normal. Ichigo attended school like every other teenager in Karakura Town. He walked the asphalt to and fro at 7 am, met up with Tatsuki or Orihime on the way as they talked about Karate and cooking respectively. Ishida would ignore him, but sew any loose buttons that tainted his eyes before the first bell rang.

The sun would eventually set and Chad would play his guitar before dinner. For the sake of all things supernatural, Ichigo was content. 

He had friends that were safe while he completed the mountains of homework in an effort to keep his top position in class. Ever since Ichigo’s glimpse into Urahara’s deep water of sins and guilt, the man had closed shop for a while. Considering the timing, Ichigo found it hard to tell if the cause was what he thought he was or something else entirely.

The week went on. 

Casually passing by, the doors of Urahara Shoten were still closed to the public. Ichigo stamped out the worry festering like Hollows pulled by the pre-drawn Hollow-attracting flags in Urahara’s basement; by accident, he’d taken one out as a dishrag once and never made the same mistake ever again. ‘They’ll be fine,’ he told himself as the class gossiped freely about new students joining in. 

_ I heard he’s the descendant of royalty in China! _

_ Look at their hair! _

_ He’s naturally blond? _

Ichigo’s attention was already half eaten by the time new kid number one introduced himself in all his energetic glory. His brain was entirely unprocessing when transfer student number two introduced himself right after. 

(He absently heard the laughter basked in a teasing lit - exactly like how he imagined happiness to sound on a person. During lunch, the class had been noisier than usual. Many seemed to try too hard in making Wei Wuxian laugh at their spontaneous jokes and funny childhood memories. Unconsciously, they sought joy from him. Wanting to feel half of what they saw in him.)

There were two of them, apparently, and Ichigo’s impolite squint when his metaphorical soul returned back into his body might’ve been because of the foreign looking one whose grin looked very punchable. Or because of the one who’s smile could light up an entire city.

_ Too bright. _ Ichigo grimaced as blindness wiped its overwhelming light over his eyes.

From that day forth, things wouldn’t be able to remain normal anymore. Ichigo had not known at that moment particularly, but it should've been bleedingly obvious. For if he bothered to pay attention to the transfer students, his instincts would have told him that something was not quite right. 

Their souls had felt too tight in its artificial body and the young man with long black hair tied in a red ribbon had a grin too wide; the blondie’s smirk rivalled Kisuke’s - and by itself, Ichigo could only blame himself for not heeding the subtle warnings earlier.

Furthermore, how could he have forgotten about the suspiciously repeating cycle? Rukia had also transferred in during no student season. Didn’t the school have intake periods or something?

The new students had stopped him after the final bell, calling his name familiarly as they dragged him to a Chinese restaurant nearby. Ichigo’s mind may not have all been there, and he really shouldn’t be following strangers around so easily, but fuck that. He wasn’t going to refuse free food. Save Yuzu some of the work. There’d be less dishes to do too. 

Ichigo wasn’t going to touch upon the puppy eyes aimed directly at him that may’ve hit something inside him Ichigo _ knew _ came from raising two younger siblings. 

In the heat of the bustling restaurant alight with activity and indiscernible conversations, Ichigo’s first impression of Shinji was: _ This guy’s shady as hell. _

And he wasn't even wrong! The Cheshire grin and assumption that Ichigo’s loyalty could be swayed irked him slightly, but Shinji _ did _have a point about his not-little problem and Ichigo wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

His Hollow was getting harder to suppress, true. Nowadays, the nightmares often woke him two hours too early to be acceptable. Ossan never interfered when that thing threw his fits every now and then. He hadn’t lifted a finger to interfere when Ichigo had desperately struggled to keep his mindscape from thundering in exasperation.

Perhaps a healthy dose of fear as well. Despite what Ossan may implicitly suggest occasionally, an emotion Ichigo didn’t want to stave off longer than he had too. 

Ichigo’s impression of Wei Wuxian was several times better. The guy was friendly, charismatic. He had enough words to compensate for two people who didn’t wish to reveal their cards because conversation felt like something someone needed a PhD for these days. 

He had, however, blinked twice at the amount of chili he saw added into the noodle’s soup in which was changing colour entirely. Wei Wei Wuxian slurped up the scarlet red beef soup noodles like a man starved. Unknowingly, nobody among their trio had even so much as burped too loudly until the empty bowl’s clicked soundly on the table. 

That was… strangely entertaining to watch, Ichigo mused to himself. Wei Wuxian hugged his stomach and let out a long refreshed sigh. Loudly - laughter soon trailing not far behind. Ichigo would eventually come to learn that laughter came very easily for the man. So easily, it was like it lived inside him and Wei Wuxian had to release that laughter often lest he suffocate.

“Come with us, Ichigo,” he said. "You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but leaving your Hollow unattended can be pretty dangerous. Kisuke and I have found a better _ and _ healthier way to cope. Hasn’t he told you? Hm? _ Hmm?_”

No, Urahara hadn’t. And Ichigo held back an irritated jibe regarding the blond man. He wanted to know what kind of (actually coherent) excuse Geta-boshi would come out with now. “What’s Geta-boshi to you?” Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Some training to blow off steam sounded especially gratifying right then. At this point, he’d take on anyone. These two included. 

“He didn’t tell you,” Wei Wuxian gasped, mischief dancing behind his eyes as he wailed exaggeratedly: “I’m gonna cry. Shinji, Kisuke didn’t tell him about us!”

“A-xian, ya the only one ta keep in touch with him nowadays,” the blond man said, looking as done as Ichigo felt. 

“Right.” His dark hair swayed with the cooling breeze of the decades old air conditioner. “I used to be in the same division as him back then. Well, I transferred over when Kisuke took over anyway. None of the others could really hold me down. Should I introduce myself again? I’m Wei Ying, Wuxian, Ex-Lieutenant of the Twelfth Division. Nice to meet you! There’s a bunch of us like you waiting if you come with us. Aren’t you curious? Ichigo, hey, Ichigo! Don’t frown so much. _ Ai, _ if only Lan Zhan had half as much colour as you.”

Tiring wasn’t the word he’d use after dealing with Wei Wuxian. Ichigo blamed the weather. Dark and dreary, nearing the end of summer as the scorching heat faded into something in between hot and chilly. The wind blowing in different temperatures every time it changed directions. Yuzu used to get sick easily by the end of summer. Ichigo casually took a mental note to ask if he needed to get some medicine on the way back.

Eyeing the former Shinigami wearily, Ichigo raised his hand, fingers motioning for the bill. “You’re right about my control slipping.” He paused when the waiter brought the small woven basket. “I still have to think about it though. See you Monday?” 

Shinji had smirked, though Ichigo could see the way relief softened his expression. Wei Wuxian smilingly paid the waiter and Ichigo had thanked them both before leaving. 

He thought they meant well. They weren’t bad people. 

Tomorrow on his mind, Ichigo needed _ words _with Geta-boshi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know what I'm doing? Maybe. 
> 
> Have I tagged myself, saying I do? I... honestly can't remember. 
> 
> Weiying can be quite the excitable character. I don't know if I did him justice. So, uh, leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this?


	4. 四

Tomorrow did eventually come. Up and over with in the blink of an eye. Ichigo stifled a yawn as he stretched, bare stomach exposed as he felt his blanket crumple on the floor beside him. He’d purposely set his alarm two hours earlier than usual, Urahara Shoten at the forefront of his to-do list for today.

After dinner with the new ‘students’ apparent, Yuzu had declined Ichigo’s offer to purchase some off-shelf medicine. They had plenty of extra lying around already, considering their father’s job as a doctor and their home a clinic. 

Passing the pharmacy, Ichigo had looked over his shoulder, street lights flickering as his shadow wavered - _ Can they be trusted? _ He wondered idly, and hoped Urahara would give him a straight answer. He’d known them for less than a year and was already tired of all the bush beating and half, hidden, half-hidden truths. 

The sun was barely up when he arrived, peaking through the horizon as the morning birds sang for uncaught meals. Ichigo had knocked once on the door and received no reply. Knocked twice, thrice. Six times in gradually increasing volume and impatience. Nothing. 

… Hm.

Ichigo slammed down the shooting urge to simply kick the door down entirely whereupon his Hollow cheered in response, clearly much too bored in his mindscape of rising glass buildings to find entertainment in anything else than Ichigo’s temper. 

Damn, did Geta-boshi take Tessai and the kids with him too? Or told them to not let teenagers with a score to settle inside? He wasn’t below crashing in like some untamed bull if his sanity was at stake here.

Hand on the handle of his blade, the golden eyed doppelganger had even offered up a spar for his frustrations. 

“Cuz ya need to and I want to,” the Hollow said with a tone that held its silent _ obviously _ like Ichigo didn’t know better. Ichigo didn’t agree right away despite seeing the appeal. If only to keep up his track record of timely attendance, he chained himself on a self-restraint he could feel fraying by the minute. Undeniably, the offer was tempting, and Ichigo then made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “Fine,” he grumbled, glaring at the store as he thought about its ridiculous owner. “I’ll fight you _ afterwards_.”

Shirosaki - because what else was he going to call the one wearing _ his face _ and _ his Shinigami attire, _but in white - was obviously delighted, cackling like Ichigo had gifted him an early Christmas present. The wispy bond that connected them together thrummed pleasantly and Ichigo’s cooling irritation suddenly rose once more. 

The lack of sleep was really starting to screw him sideways.

_ You’re right about my control slipping, _ he said yesterday, towards individuals who were the same as him. Who theoretically should also know better in controlling the heartless creature that represented everything he never wanted to see personified. It wasn’t explicitly said, but Wei Wuxian had essentially promised a healthier and safer way to cope with the fellow. And the last thing Ichigo wanted was to scare his sisters or friends because a trigger happy temper him couldn’t help reign his quick to come and go anger half the time.

Fine, Ichigo finalised (and was it the impulsive nature of his Hollow, or Ichigo, to decide so?). He would nod in agreement and accept the charity of the kind Samaritans that seemed to fall from the sky and get this finally on and over with. Under the condition that he would not join sides like a babble of children still deciding on a hierarchy among themselves. No, he was indebted to both Geta-boshi and Wei Wuxian and co. 

Several hours later and Ichigo’s plans could not be more derailed. Well, that to-do list was surely flung out the window easily enough.

Neither Shinji nor Wei Wuxian were anywhere to be seen. He’d brushed them off as tardy at first, only to be proven wrong when their seats remained empty period after period. Ichigo felt oddly betrayed when he packed his bag for the next trip to Urahara Shoten, the sound of Shirosaki’s blade loud in his ears as he demanded for that agreed after-school match. This good nature of his was going to get him killed some day. 

Geta-boshi’s stupid face popped up and Ichigo shook his head. _ Definitely soon. _

The fight had to be delayed, unsurprisingly and arguably unfortunately, because of the appearance of two too many overpowered dumbasses tearing Karakura Town a new asshole through space and time. Ichigo had the decency to apologise to Shirosaki when trouble found him in the form of his distressed friends, and the humanoid Hollow had growled in rare agreement. 

Yammy and Ulquiorra Cifer were hard to beat and harder to like. Ichigo detested those that treated souls like they were lesser existence in death. Mere livestock in the food chain. It just couldn’t rub right with him, and In possession of a Hollow himself, understanding was something time held due for him. He wasn’t open for the conversation yet, but perhaps one day he could understand letting beings like Arrancars live. When they have not fed on souls in the living plane. 

This kind of blatant consumption was unacceptable. Not in this playground where he tripped over nothing and got a scar that lasted till today. 

Attacking his friends was another matter entirely. Especially since subconsciously or consciously, Ichgo took his namesake as protector very seriously. The sight of Chad and Orihime down on one knee pulled hairs for Ichigo. Shirosaki nearly yowled like an offended cat. Ichigo didn’t think his Hollow had any lost love for his friends, but no other predator had place here. These son of a bitches needed to go as soon as possible. 

Yammy had delivered a hard punch right into Ichigo’s ribs and the teen choked from the inhuman force. “Bankai,” the magic word left his bleeding lips, and Ichigo indulged in the power that coursed through him. 

“That’s the one.” The green-eyed Arrancar stated coldly. Ichigo had swung Zangetsu and the blow had frustratingly missed its intended target. Sidestepping from another heavy fist that might as well had made his bones shard puncture the wind out of his lungs, the bellowing voice of the annoyed, larger Arrancar pained Ichigo like nothing else. 

One would think that a Zanpakuto’s last straw, Bankai, was the most a Shinigami could achieve in their entire after-lifetime. Ichigo did too, even if he learned it in less than the number of days in a week. Bankai was supposed to be all-powerful, his trump card. At the very least, capable of protecting those dear to him.

Yet Ichigo had scowled and scrambled and struggled and -

And it _ wasn’t enough. _

Shirosaki was inclined to agree. Eyes narrowing even though Ichigo couldn’t really see the thoughtful look. “Leave him ta me,” Shirosaki said, uncharacteristically calm. Then louder when Ichigo stubbornly refused because who on any plane would think that letting the guy take the take the wheel make a good idea? Based on past events, Shirosaki was homicidal on a good day and downright calamitous on others.

“Ya can’t beat him alone, ya still too_ weak, _” he spat maliciously. “FUCKING GIVE.”

Urahara may be first on the list, but Ichigo was going to have _ words _with Shirosaki too. So he determined, before control was crudely snatched away from him. 

Essentially, Ichigo was put on the bench like used solar batteries left to charge. A co-pilot where there needed none. The backup player, which was humorously ironic as he was also the first to play ball in court. 

His body ceased to be his, but Ichigo was actually aware of what was taking place outside. Sort of. The more Shirosaki took over, the more his awareness faded in exchange for something more animalistic. More base in instinct. Ichigo recognised faces and didn’t care. Violence caused and solved his problems, therefore it was best applied everywhere until _ nothing _ could _ become _ or _ be _a problem. 

Rather counterproductive if one didn’t want to hurt the wrong people. Shirosaki didn’t share the same sentiments. 

By the time he found himself he found himself undrugged by his own overpowered dumbass, for the second time that day alone, Ichigo woke up. He recognised the ceiling immediately and the soothing pattern of neatly arranged joists belonged to the place he’d contemplated barging through earlier this morning. Oh, so when Ichigo wanted in he wasn’t allowed to, but when he’d rather somebody else witness him high to the hills on bloodlust, Urahara welcomed him with open arms? 

Fuck that guy. Fuck him and Ichigo because he still felt a traitorous flutter of dependance tickle his heart at the sight of his shitty mentor. Fuck Wei Wuxian and Shinji at the corner of the room, chatting softly about topics he couldn’t hear because he may have busted something sometime then._ Wait - _ why were they even here? 

“Good afternoon, Kurosaki-kun.”

Features hidden behind his unfolded fan, Shirosaki told him to lug that predictably stubbled mug in the face. Through spite alone, Ichigo didn’t and the clench of his fists on the soft blanket tightened. There could be worse faces to wake up to. 

(Geta-boshi should’ve gotten Chad and Inoue back in one piece. _ Everything’s gonna be fine.) _

“Not yet.” An unfamiliar face suddenly appeared in his bleary vision. 

The woman was dressed in dark red and like she’d just left the casting of a historical drama from China, long dark hair tied into a high ponytail. Ichigo took in how her sharp eyes appeared lacking in compassion whatsoever; the quick registration of the careful glow of warm green above his heart told him otherwise. 

“Thanks? Who...”

“This humble doctor is called Wen Qing. Healing you has been my pleasure, sir Kurosaki, but this doctor will need your head on the pillow for a moment longer.” 

She pushed him down by the shoulders, fingers hardly carrying any weight behind them. Ichigo obediently lied down before turning to face Urahara’s amused expression. Ichigo almost groaned at the cramping stiffness in his neck, “Explain.” he said, and Wei Wuxian had leaned closer as he approached Ichigo’s temporary sick bed. 

“Sorry about school, Ichigo. We had to check up on some stuff with Kisuke. Things aren’t looking too good honestly, you’ll need training immediately after A-Qing patches you up.”

He hadn’t even noticed the annoyed grunt that slipped past him until he heard Wei Wuxian’s soft chuckle. “Really,” The man crooned, the corners of his mouth raising. 

“You owe me big time, Wei Wuxian.”

“Why not take the first step first then? Close your eyes and listen to the voice of your soul. The one containing the parts you hate. Ugly and prideful and impatient for power. Talk to him, Ichigo. What does he tell you? What does he want? Why does he fight? Our Hollows are still part of us and we, them.”

The last Ichigo would hear in the living world was an ear-piercing whistle and two candid claps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how Ichigo turned out like this. Does he sound too done with everything in general? The boy is Tired. Give him peace. 
> 
> Also, there’s going to be a PoV changes from now on. Ichigo’s currently out of commission and busy strangling answers out of Shiro. Per chapter, I won’t be jumping back and forth half way through one PoV - to avoid confusion. And if I do, it’ll be an obvious change.
> 
> I’ll do my best?? Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this!


	5. 五

Wei Ying wrapped an arm around Kisuke’s shoulders as he thanked Wen Qing who returned the thanks with a displeased frown. Yeah, he knew he didn’t have to thank his sister in all but blood after what they’d gone through. He liked his manners, though, despite what Lan Qiren loved to grumble to anyone who’d listen. 

Having people who were loyal and caring was something to be treasured; Wei Ying always said thank you because he understood how precious friends were. 

“Brat’s still green,” Shinji commented idly, and Wei Ying could feel Kisuke tense underneath his haori. At any other moment, Wei Ying would’ve played the fool and joked about the colour of Kisuke’s favourite colour right after, but he hadn’t. Because he knew what _ green _ meant. 

Inexperienced and inadequate. Unprepared and edging useless against their enemies. Nobody blamed Ichigo for being young, of course. They too had experienced helplessness that rubbed salt into their festering wounds once upon a time. What use was the praise of the Captain-commander for their talents, Lieutenant's badge or Captain’s robes if they still had to sneak out of the Seireitei like kicked dogs at the end of the day? 

Everyone was a victim. The implicated Ichigo deserved all the help he could get and none of the criticism. At sixteen years old, he was _ practically an infant, _ to quote Kisuke. By comparison, Wei Ying, Shinji, basically everyone but the children in Urahara Shoten - not to mention Lan Zhan - were like ancient dinosaurs. 

As powerful and prodigious Kisuke’s new protege may be, Aizen had many years of cunning experience on him. Two arrancar minions had been more than enough to drag Ichigo’s Hollow out to play. Aizen had reportedly the loyalty of at least five times that number. 

The boy could only provide minimal assistance to Kisuke’s dismay. Petty grudge otherwise, Shinji’s words were not entirely mocking - they held some truth. Wei Ying cooed at his first adopted younger brother in attempt to ease Kisuke’s nerves. Even so many years since Wei Ying had found Kisuke starving and shivering in some ditch in the Rukongai’s countless alleyways, Kisuke had never truly freed himself from the curse of insecurity. 

The boy was too smart for that. 

“Don’t worry, little brother.” Unwrapping his arms, Wei Ying took their hands together and said, “Chenqing told me that his Hollow means well. Nothing too bad should happen.” 

Touch-starved as he was, Kisuke leaned in to rest his forehead into the dip of Wei Ying’s warm neck: “Aizen is-”

“Aizen’s arrogance rivals his patience. Knowing that Ichigo is not a threat yet, It’s likely that he’ll take his time to execute his plans. Rest now, won’t you? Tessai says you haven’t slept for days ah.” 

Lifting a finger as if in jest, Kisuke opened his mouth: “You can’t be sure-”

“Jiang Cheng had sent me a letter and due to the invasion plus Central 46’s bloodbath, we have a fixed period of silence from everything. Let this _ da-ge _ handle it for now, yeah?” Matters involving masked souls were his specialty anyway. 

Wei Ying giggled when he dragged the blond man by the back-collar and into his bedroom. The one without a lab attached to it because everybody knew that the two of them were workaholics down to the bones when it came to their inventions or scientific inspirations. 

Even though things had been tough, Wei Ying actually missed the days Kisuke used to rely on him without much complaint. He could remember the sight of the scrawny, skinny runt - for lack of a better word - with steel eyes sharper than knives. 

More vicious than the cursed dogs that roamed District 78: Inuzuri, Wei Ying almost mistook Kisuke for one when they met. During one winter when temperatures dropped to impossible lows, Wei Ying had been jumping from district to district one hundred years since his arrival at the Soul Society and ninety seven years since he got the hang of living in his first district. 

Alone and in the body of a child that aged too slowly, Wei Ying’s last memory of the living wasn’t much to go off on. He could barely recall the scent of blood and rot surrounding him, closing his eyes as he heard the inhuman groans. A flash of white light, and _ plop _he went on sandy pavement in a place he didn’t recognise. 

“Welcome to Soul Society,” a man with missing teeth grinned. “Welcome to Hell,” the short-haired woman beside him corrected. 

Always hungry, Wei Ying learned the hard way on what poverty felt like. He couldn’t imagine being better off alive. Because for some reason, something told him that this wasn’t the first time he’d stolen bread from a vendor, or even fought dirty with children just as filthy and hungry as he. Wei Ying was always helpless against the dogs though, despite adapting like fish to water. 

Truly, Wei Ying had no excuses for himself. He was braver in the face of the wandering Hollows that irresponsible Shinigami failed to clean up. He’d run away and hide in the span of seconds when their ugly faces showed, but if the appearance were by dogs, Wei Ying’s first instinct might as well have commanded him to just lie down and die. 

The point was, with the exception of mongrels of any kind, Wei Ying knew his way around the Rukongai. From barter to brawl to simple burglary, Wei Ying was the person to go to. Kisuke, on the other hand, was still a freshly baked little bun. And seeing how his pale cheeks sunk, that was also missing lots of filling. 

Sight taken with the dim sight of hair pale like the insides of a banana, Wei Ying’s curiosity was peaked at the stifled sobs coming from the dark. The sound of chattering teeth also caught hold of his attention, the frustrated grunt that followed crushed it in its vice-like fist. 

Creeping up on the figure squared underneath a hold made from a grey blanket and two boxes stacked on top of each other on the left and right, Wei Ying’s friendly “Hello?” was returned with a snarl. He himself didn’t know what possessed him; it was common sense around these parts to be worn and weary. When alone, be quiet and smart if one wishes to live long. 

And smart meant not announcing oneself to unknown identities. Smart also meant not acting like a fool and walking right into the darkness that produced suspicious sounds because it could be a trap. 

Wei Ying disobeyed all three. So in hindsight, he really shouldn’t have been surprised when the little hot cross bun leaped forward, rusty knife in hand and ready to stab Wei Ying in the face. 

Unfortunately for him, Wei Ying quite liked his handsome face. He disarmed the boy at record speed - grabbing the arm holding the knife and trapping it under his armpit, Wei Ying swept a leg into Kisuke stumbling right leg so that he lost his balance and fell down on his behind. “Hey now!” he laughed, snatching the knife away and throwing it aside. 

Probably desperate, unshed tears shook in Kisuke’s eyes as he tried to bite Wei Ying who’d pinned him on the ground easily. This… shocked Wei Ying, so to say. The little bun was just too cute! 

“Let go of me!” he cried, struggling like his life depended on it. 

Were Wei Ying anyone else, the boy would have good reason to. But he wasn’t. His own grey eyes glinting, Wei Ying patiently waited until the little bun realised that nothing hurtful would come to his person. Eventually, Kisuke calmed down. Which was when he tried again, “Hello.”

The little bun’s glare held the heat of summer and Wei Ying resisted crooning, “I’m Wei Ying. What’s your name?”

Clicking his tongue, the blond boy answered very reluctantly: “Kisuke,” he grunted through the teeth. 

“Kisuke! Oi, you shouldn’t tell people your name so easily, y’know?”

“Y-you-! You were the one who asked!” 

“I did, but I didn’t expect you to be so honest. Hahaha! I like you, Kisuke. Do you want to come with me?”

The lost look on Kisuke’s bruised face let Wei Ying know that the child didn’t understand. 

“You’re new here, right?” Wei Ying said. “It’s normal to have rags and no sandals in District 78 but even I can tell that you haven’t changed or washed once. Probably means you don’t know where the _ running _ river is and you look pretty skinny too. More than your neighbours in the next ditch at least. Plus, you’re leaking Reiatsu _ everywhere _too which is why I think you got robbed earlier, explaining the bruise on your face. Winter sucks, and the shops close early. I get that. If you come with me, I can protect you and teach you how to survive.” 

Kisuke flinched, trying to curl up somewhat. “What’s in it for you?” he asked unsurely.

“We share similar eyes. They’re both grey! See? We can pass off as brothers. And it’s lonely travelling alone. I don’t like that; with you, we can get food twice as fast and be twice as strong. I’m your older brother from now on. Call me Wei-ge. Da-ge. Ge-ge.”

Kisuke’s breath slowed, clouds of warmth leaving in white puffs. He looked awfully calculative. Weighing the pros and cons in mute silence. Wei Ying’s answer wasn’t really an answer people would feel satisfied with because it wasn’t actually a proper answer. Yet this… this _ weird, suspicious as heck, cheerful stranger _whose cheeks looked much more rosier in health than his called to him.

Trust wasn’t easy to Kisuke, seeing betrayals occurring like clockwork around these parts. Wei Ying looked reliable though. Demonstrating strength and smarts during their short scuffle. He could trust? Not fully, maybe a bit? For now.

Kisuke forcibly relaxed underneath Wei Ying. 

“Wei-ge,” he called, hoping the cold would take him before the embarrassment did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We start exploring the past now. I'm so excited to write this?? Kind of, I don't know why my ideas keep changing, but it's making me low-key angry. 
> 
> Also, Kisuke knows what ge means by context. As Wei Ying said to call him his older brother. Kisuke is a smart boy.
> 
> Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this!


	6. 六

Pulled by the knowledge of survival in another land, Kisuke was quickly swept off of his feet in journey to travel through the eighty districts in South Rukongai; heads kept low in exchange for exchange for decently filled bellies. 

As he would in many things following Wei Ying, Kisuke had soon come to learn many tips in regards to manoeuvring his way around the afterlife. Rather important life lessons as well. He hadn’t needed to write them down thanks to his trusty memory, but there was a list of them which Kisuke treasured. 

The first, for example: there was very little Rukongai citizens dumped on the upper numbered Districts wouldn’t do to survive.

Many twice his age in appearance have died for resources much more insignificant than mouldy bread, and Kisuke was spine-chillingly surprised to witness Wei Ying, who’d seem to have retained a kind of innocence despite their circumstance upon Kisuke’s first impression, gut men and women alike with no respite of their pretty faces and prettier words.

Kisuke didn’t think himself a particularly naïve soul, not when he’d managed weeks here and essentially remembered nothing of his past life, but an innermost part of him had grown to believe like a matter-of-fact: Wei Ying was a creature born to smile under the sun, not frown in the darkness and stench of dank alleys.

Because Wei Ying wasn’t inherently bad at all. He was good, if the way he adopted a Kisuke in the midst of a breakdown in a blink of an eye said anything.

Soft-heartedness and selflessness were inconvenient, Wei Ying said so himself. Were Kisuke actually stupider than his given intelligence, he’d think people like Wei Ying would be the first to die then, because Wei Ying basically acted like a walking contradiction.

It was Wei Ying who guided him through his first kill, the brightness of his endearing grin having not diminished at all. Kisuke had been soaked bloody from head to toe, blade slipping at the last second and messily mangling through an artery. Initially monitoring closely on the side, Wei Ying had then knelt, mindless of the endless fountain of blood, and took Kisuke’s trembling hand.

“Heavens ah,” the older teen couldn’t fully stifle the laughter in his voice, “This is going to be a pain to wash out.”

Kisuke hated to admit it, but he may’ve leaned in into his _Wei-ge’s_ body heat. Though to be fair, the winter that year had been harsher than usual.

Wei Ying said, “No, that’s not how you hold a dagger, my little radish. You’d probably stab yourself like that! How cute! Grip it like this, Kisuke–”

Kisuke supposed that it was thanks to Wei Ying’s learned, perhaps natural, ruthlessness that there were no lies regarding the promise of food. Even when times were severe, Wei Ying would still manage to find _something _for Kisuke so he’d never starve. They went hungry sometimes, yes, but never to the point his stomach went numb. 

No one was to blame during those days. It couldn’t be helped - they lived like foxes skittering on the outskirts of districts with thick and coarse coats, drilling holes into the deep snow, making tunnels in their wake that eventually filled. Frequent migration was the last thing on Kisuke’s mind when he started his gruelling days in the Rukongai, but Wei Ying explained its necessity and explained the many factors contributing to his – theirs, now – lifestyle. 

Thus, lesson and/ or tip number two: Always be on the move.

Food, weather, company. The natural way of hunting prey to eat wasn’t something Kisuke considered before, and he’d smacked himself silly inside his head for the ridiculous gap in common sense.

How had he not thought about capturing food outside the towns? Humanity’s roots, Kisuke, the butchers had to get their meat from _somewhere._

He was taught where the burrows of hibernating bears and snakes were – “Don’t go in barehanded, okay?” Wei Ying’s lips curved teasingly.

Kisuke had soon reconsidered his inner-reprimand when he learned how setting up traps without any prior knowledge and skill would be a challenge of its own. Animals _were_ sharper than some human dunces he’d seen strutting about.

It left a funny taste in his mouth, sour and sweet. It wasn’t his fault, he supposed, that he hadn’t thought about hunting. More sooner would’ve he have been mauled by a bear by having missed the warning signs.

Kisuke found himself growing quite fond of travel after a while. At first, he’d protested greatly when Wei Ying insisted they move three days after meeting each other.

Three days? Out of _here,_ where he’d personally dug up at least seven warm corners to sleep? Flimsy safe spots, but _safe_ nevertheless, spots he knows have a seven point eight percent likelihood of getting claimed by some two-bit Yakuza wannabe?

Moving out from one’s safe zone was good and all, but five days meant 72 hours of rushed planning. _If_ Kisuke didn’t sleep or eat or listen to Wei Ying’s incessant rambling about the nice red-light district sister he’d seen on a random balcony – not even spoken to – because the guy was an attention whore.

“We’re fucking unprepared, Wei-ge! You might as well dig my grave with your own two hands!”

Wei Ying shrugged. “Trust me,” he assured with theatrical exaggeration, and Kisuke wanted to punch him the face despite knowing he’d lose the fight Wei Ying would drag out just for the fun of it. “I hate you,” he gritted bitterly as compromise, because he _was_ still a scrawny white radish. “I want an actual tombstone.”

His _older brother_ simply cooed in response.

After hopping about Districts 64, 66, 70 and more, Kisuke eventually calmed down on his own. He took Wei Ying’s question of trust like a kind of gospel that’s been dunked in muddy water and then hung out to dry. When he wasn’t rushing to emotionally prepare himself after an instantons drop of: “Okay! Next district!” by yours truly, he genuinely appreciated seeing new sights and taking in new scents.

It was fascinating to observe and study the different districts squeezed together in the East Rukongai. The subtle change in culture, to the point Kisuke suspected he was taking a stroll forward in time the closer he got to the Seireitei.

Not to forget the smaller numbered Districts who lived so cosily it was actually insulting – regular patrols, an actual legal system, even a public library!

He wasn’t complaining about its residents becoming compliant in their comfort, though. Kisuke was generally happy about how they were the easiest to steal from. Plus, how murder wasn’t their first reaction to… well, most things. Which was great. More than great.

Then again, getting in the district was hard enough to serve as an entrance test. The closer to Seretei one got, the wearier a District’s respective residents were of outsiders. Wei Wing was the embodiment of confidence and charm so he had little problems fitting in, but Kisuke wasn’t.

_Slowly,_ he thought, _I’ll be good enough to fit in too._

Kisuke needed a mask. A well-crafted persona to cover his scent as street rat. Wei Ying’s was Wei Wuxian. What would Kisuke’s be?

Urahara Kisuke, Wei Ying suggested, and Kisuke had taken it.

He regretted to say that the majority of this tested and working persona resembled Wei Ying’s casual, cocky _I have no problems in this world because I have the capability to be your greatest problem _attitude to an obvious extent.

They were attached at the hip for the majority of their time, it was unavoidable.

Frankly, he’d gotten annoyed at his own smile while practicing in the mirror. The act was, unfortunately, the most effective in lowering people’s guards. They either loved him enough to discount the prices on unassuming books or hated and steered cleared from him enough to not look through Kisuke’s mask and see something off.

Third: Shinigami were danger. Nobles even more so (with exceptions).

“I heard there’ll be more food over at the thirty-fourth.” Wei Ying said after a year they’d been together. Kisuke had asked how he knew, obviously, as they were together for nearly twenty-four seven.

“A little birdy told me.” Wei Ying grinned cheekily. “I’ll introduce you to them one day.”

The little birdy was another teenage boy who couldn’t speak a sentence without stuttering or tripping over a word or two. Kisuke appreciated his sister more; Wen Qing was like everlasting coal glowing with bright sparks of fire. Wen Ning was… good at recognising herbs and archery, even if his shyness made him perform poorly in front on anyone but Wei Ying. The talent was pointless, then, Kisuke thought jealously to himself.

Wei Ying taught him many things, sharing wasn’t one of them.

Once their (Kisuke’s, because he needed twice the effort in building muscles) chicken legs finally crossed the borders, Kisuke was especially taught to remain unnoticed by any nobles because generally, a Seireitei’s peacock pride and trained Reiatsu control meant bad news for powerless folk like them.

Stay clear from Shinigami as well – the ones that wield long staffs or swords – but linger inconspicuously, and never more than at the corner of their eyes.

Suspicion was damning, Wei Ying had declared with an uncharacteristic air of solemnity. Also mentioning that he would need more than both their both their fingers and toes to explain the implications of being either too attention catching or too lacking of it.

Hiding one’s presence abnormally well gave the common misconception of being guilty. And though Shinigami didn’t care much about those beyond the first thirty districts, it was better being safe than sorry. 

“It’s a dog if they’re wearing a white Haori with the numbers one to thirteen.” Wei Ying paused, lover of the dramatics. “Freeze, I mean. Hahahaha, don’t bother with escaping if they seem reasonable, they’ll get you anyway. Remember to play very nice, hmm, my cute, cute, cute Di-di. Captains are a whole’nother level.”

“Have you been stopped by a Captain before?” Kisuke asked.

“When has Xianxian not? I say, actually, I’m friends with one of their brothers. If you can still speak after whatever you’ve done, call for Nie Mingjue. He’s the Captain of the Ninth Division! Say that you’re Wei Ying’s Di-di, and he’ll probably help you out.”

“Why?”

“You know Huaisang?” Wei Ying grinned, playing with Kisuke’s hair as they were camping at a lakeside deep inside the forests of District 24.

Kisuke remembered Huaisang. Another timid boy who they regularly met up with when passing by District 5. His clothes looked simple, but Kisuke’s discerning eyes could tell they were of good quality. He’d chalked up Huaisang to be the son from one of the wealthier citizens of the district.

He ignored the part of him that whispered to Kisuke how Huaisang and he were similar people. Hatchling snakes in human skin.

Wei Ying and he loved chatting over pornography and art while Kisuke occupied himself with actual, informative materials that Huaisang had lent him as a token of friendship. “A brother of Wei-xiong is a brother of mine,” he said demurely, hiding half his face with a paper fan painted with splendidly inked cranes in flight.

Huaisang once offered a paper fan to him for his birthday (spirited away day) – which Kisuke had no clue as to how he knew as he himself did not know – but Kisuke declined it, saying that he’d probably dirty or lose the gift while moving.

“I remember him,” Kisuke nodded, the points quickly connecting.

“He’s the younger brother of Nie Mingjue. Huaisang thinks Mingjue-taicho doesn’t know he sneaks out every month or so, but he does! He writes for me to take care of him in exchange for letting some stuff slip. That’s why we go back to the Fifth District pretty often. Your Wei-ge had to get the library passes from somewhere!”

Wei Ying hummed and tapped his chin. “I’d still take care of Huaisang without Mingjue-taicho asking, though. Huaisang’s my friend! So get along, okay?”

“I’ll take Huaisang’s paper fan next time.” Kisuke offered like a question, sounding unsure even to his ears. Wei Ying’s arm was soon clamped around his shoulder, making both of them topple unsteadily to one side.

Their bodies fell ungracefully to the prickly grass beneath, cold and wet from morning dew.

Inwardly, Kisuke’s stomach dropped a little._ Oh, I see. So his brother was a captain._

There were lessons four, five, six and more. Enough lessons over enough time for Kisuke to actually find himself tucked right below Wei Ying’s chin while the older boy snored softly within the confines of their shoddy tent, considering how he felt about Wei Ying. His mysterious, incorrigibly chatty at times, but _good_ Wei-ge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for deleting the chapter if you've received the notification for it. It was an, uh, embarrassing impulse?? I get urges sometimes... and I've deleted like, 2 works because of it already. No matter, anyway, This one's back up again though. And um... sorry fo replying to your comments super late. I usually do it earlier, but forgot, like three times. I reveived a question I'd like to answer here though. I thought it would be informative or somoething like that.
> 
> I know I've implied for the cast's past life (or canon, basically) to be relevant. But it's not really the case except for two people, which I wanted to explain in a separate fic connected by a series. It'll be on here, most likely, since I don't want to be confusing (maybe?). Just know that canon has not taken place, and even if it did, in an alternate universe. Thank you for understanding. 
> 
> As always, leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this! It's been a tiring week, so your support really cheers me up. I'll reply to you guys this time! Hehehe


	7. 七

Kisuke trusted Wei Ying, almost mindlessly, without noticing at which season had he arrived to a point whereupon he’d happily plan the downfall of what or whoever wronged his adopted brother.

That said, Kisuke already had at least two people and three establishments in mind. If Wei Ying must be refused his favourite Emperor’s Smile, then the sole distributor of Emperor’s Smile in District 34 will be derived from it as well.

There wasn’t a reason not to dedicate a majority of his cunning to the other when Wei Ying had yet to mistreat him once throughout their many decades together, having revealed no signs of betraying him either. Plus, the important fact of how Wei Ying was also prone to keep giving Kisuke without expecting anything in return.

Despite their brotherhood, nevertheless, a near unnoticeable part of him sometimes regretted anchoring a good load of his separation anxiety to this _fool._

“Let’s be Shinigami!” Wei Ying cheered like the New Year had arrived early and Seireitei distributed 5 catty of jerky for free. _Let’s be Shinigami,_ he said, like it was the easiest thing to do in this realm. The Gotei 13 were military, Wei Ying may’ve forgotten to consider. They could stand to lose everything they’ve worked so hard to earn for some cosy roof and a lifetime of orders?

_And power. Me. – _a deep feminine voice at the back of his head chimed powerfully. Kisuke promptly decided to file it away to examine for later.

(the second half of his soul.)

Become and join one of those _Shinigami_ who’d almost killed Wei Ying because he tried to protect somebody from their unasked advances? Wen Chao that bastard was on top of his shit list – Kisuke didn’t think he was the prideful sort, but on multiple occasions has he had a glimpse of the Gotei 13’s system and he didn’t like the sight. Not one bit.

Furthermore, who didn’t know that behind the leash of the Shinigami existed a whole council of jerks as old as time. The utter randomness and risk that came of Wei Ying’s newfound antic-to-be was madness. 

“Do you even think? How old are you?!” he chastised with obvious exasperation.

“Eh? Maybe two hundred, maybe more? Doesn’t really matter when I stopped counting after one hundred and ninety-four!” Wei Ying exclaimed cheerfully, then continued because he knew it’d piss Kisuke more. “Therefore, Xianxian is one hundred and ninety-four! A _baby_.”

Kisuke was now one hundred and seventeen years old and no longer a scrawny white radish. He was confident he could take Wei Ying down. Try him.

That was three days ago and he did not, in fact, manage to defeat Wei Ying in an all-out brawl even though he had played dirty, which was unfair in its own right.

Watching Wei Ying beam at Kisuke while holding two shivering pheasants by the neck, Kisuke’s anger was somewhat soothed. “Ah-di! Ah-di!” Wei Ying’s nimble steps bounced joyfully, “I told you that your plan was good. My adorable little radish is a genius!” 

Okay, maybe Kisuke was throwing a fist down his boat a little too hastily. Wei Ying was neither stupid nor ignorant. Maybe there was something brewing in the background, something that threatened Wei Ying’s and Kisuke’s lives in the comfort of the shadows that they must once more be on the move.

The Seireitei was a goddamn corner, though!

Kisuke had this. He did. He could confidently say he knew what Wei Ying was like the most out of all his other little birdies. He was most familiar with what foods Wei Ying loved - inhumanely spicy - to bribe him with, or what sort of behaviour Wei Ying didn’t - disloyal and unjust people. Kisuke picked up as much as he could so that he wouldn’t be left behind.

If it was him from before, if it was just a matter of food and skills, that alone wouldn’t have kept Kisuke from genuinely _enjoying _Wei Ying’s energetic company and wanting to stay. Because although Kisuke waved goodbye to the semi-permanent hurt seared into his skin when he was immediately taught how to catch pheasants and stuff his tiny body full with his Reiatsu to prevent getting caught by the people he needed to hide from, he had grown extremely attached.

Kisuke adored many things about Wei Ying. He liked that Wei Ying listened, praised and encouraged him. And he never put Kisuke down, physically or emotionally, like those arrogant pack leaders of Rukongai dogs that were littered all over the place. The ones that would tempt with every pleasure in the Seireitei and false promises. Alongside Wei Ying, Kisuke felt himself flourishing. 

His older brother was a good teacher and extremely creative with what he knew. In admiration with whatever Kisuke had to say, they constantly saw each other as equals and bounced ideas off like a mountain’s echo. Together, their combined genius had produced beautiful results in living like travelling rogues within the Rukongai. 

And from that, Kisuke’s loyalty grew.

He should ask and listen. Wei Ying wouldn’t lie… probably make a teasing, mood-lifting joke out of his anxious inquiry, but not downright_ lie._

Shed feathers sticking on his hair, Wei Ying smilingly trapped the pheasants underneath the basket. He glanced at their simple makeshift shelter, a small and humble gated corner store nobody visited.

West Rukongai’s District 10 was home to more than all the other districts they’ve visited before. Its given number was small, but barely anyone lived here because for some odd reason, powerful Hollows had a history of being attracted to this part of the Rukongai. They’d just loiter around, attacking Shinigami or souls if they find any, but generally tame.

Shinigami patrols didn’t like coming here as a result. Only occasionally would a Captain drop by for a yearly cleaning. The Gotei could afford the lax treatment; the Hollows didn’t wander into the surrounding districts and there _were_ a lot of them.

Yiling, they uncreatively named District 10. Wei Ying cackled wildly and said it was simply a play on his mother tongue. In Chinese, the number ten in digits were individually ‘Yi’ and ‘Ling’. Coincidentally, the one in charge of taking record of the paperwork in regards to most things Rukongai belonged to Qinghe Nie Clan, thus Huaisang’s odd titbit knowhow of information in which he’d spilled over tea some weeks ago.

Recently, and Kisuke meant for the past two decades or so, Kisuke and Wei Ying had come to the long awaited decision of purchasing a private main base to return to. _A home_, he wanted, and Kisuke was intrigued in his agreement.

The change was honestly a highly anticipated and unavoidable one. Kisuke could no longer pack up his small creations and gadgets with the same ease he had when he first started – and by default, Wei Ying as well. Having a working table and personal lab too… Unashamedly, Kisuke had drooled over it even in his dreams.

“Why do we need to leave, Wei-ge?” Kisuke bit out, emphasising especially on the why.

Wei Ying pursed his lips, the fist around the pheasants’ necks cinching tighter as they honked out a distressed sound before quieting again, as if they could sense Wei Ying’s fouling mood.

“We’re brothers,” Kisuke reminded curtly. “I deserve to know.”

“You do,” Wei Ying agreed with a resigned nod, his air of mischief swept away entirely and replaced with something uncomfortably solemn. The older boy sighed and squatted down, a small cloud on sand dusting up his bare feet. He looked up at Kisuke. “Well? Come down here, my little radish. Your Wei-ge has got things to confess.”

When Kisuke met his eyes, grey enough for people to believe they shared blood, Wei Ying dropped his gaze and his head too. “Kisuke, the Wen Clan… what do you know about them?”

“Part of the big four,” Kisuke replied easily enough. “Wen Qing-san is anxious about their Clan Leader. Wen Ruohan is getting too ambitious and people are disappearing in the Rukongai every day.” His brows furrowed. “Are they related?”

“Nie-taicho tells me that the Wens are up to no good. Being part of the big four isn’t enough for We Ruohan anymore, possibly. He’s been researching all sorts of shady stuff, picking up lab rats from every district like common pebbles. We may not be safe here anymore – if we integrate ourselves as Shinigami, we’ll have a proper education. Power. We could climb the ranks and protect ourselves.”

Kisuke pinched the bridge of his nose. “And the Seireitei doesn’t give a shit,” he said knowingly.

“Nope!” Wei Ying laughed sheepishly. “Haha… Seems like we’ll have to cancel out rule number two? Three? This’ll be our last move, so come with me?”

“It’s rule two. Yes, I’ll go with you. The library was running out of books anyway.”

“Sure _ah._ I believe you.” Mirth danced in Wei Ying’s eyes, his knowing smile. Kisuke hated that look – it made him feel all tingly and weird. Not in a good way too, because foreboding crawled beneath his skin.

The pheasants re-attempted their struggle, clucking and shrieking only for Wei Ying to choke them further. “Oh!” Wei Ying perked up suddenly from his task of chopping their heads off. One pheasant was caged underneath a straw basket while he killed the other one first for dinner. “Home will still be home. We’ll sneak out sometimes, after we graduate, whatever, so don’t pack up everything, okay? Only the essentials. Sign-ups are in three days, my cute radish! Journey there needs two!”

“Three days?! Wei-ge you–!”

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be focusing on the past now, with occasional chapters on the present - then at one point, a time skip with just present afterwards. Like the novel? Kind of. It's the plan, at least, and certainly more substantial than spilling everything through dialogue. Hope it's not too confusing; I like the variety of going back and forth but do tell me if everything thus far is hard to understand, I'll put like a past and present label to make things clear. 
> 
> Kisuke and Wei Ying are like, my jam though, if you haven't realised. I'm also, super excited?? to get to their time in the academy and writing scenes with Wei Ying's Suibian and Chenqing!!!! And fuck am I excited to let people know how I see Bichen's Zanpakuto spirit form asdfghcnlarjv 
> 
> Stay safe and strong and kind, everyone. As always, do leave a comment and Kudos if you enjoyed this!


	8. 八

It shrouded the gardens like a thick, invisible haze. The same garden applauded to resemble a masterpiece right out of an ink painting; decorated with the flush of plum blossoms who’d pooled free of its dark hues from the melancholic press of Reiatsu, accompanied by frozen dewdrops hanging off from the leaves of the arching willow and pine trees. 

The near tangible grief of Gusu Lan’s Clan Head, Lan Huan - Xichen, was palpable throughout the Lan residence instituted in the Cloud Recesses that was infamous for its poor location despite Gusu Lan Clan’s noble status. 

The clan’s original founder, Lan An, had been a wandering monk after the death of his beloved wife during the Quincy Extermination period. Involved in the founding of the original Gotei 13, long had he entered the cycle of reincarnation, conveniently leaving behind an artificial mountain for his descendants, levelled by Lan An’s battle with Head Captain Yamamoto while their breaths were still warm with the sharp tang of alcohol.

Thus came forth Gusu Lan’s first rule on its would-be infamous walls, soon inspiring the Shinigami Academy’s own set of rules for many years to come. 

When common souls looked upon the uniquely designed buildings partially hidden in lofty mists, their thoughts were rarely revenant and awed. Instead, they would click their tongues and shake their heads. 

For nobody worth their salt in mind wished to climb the stairs that numbering over a thousand daily, or live deprived from natural Reiryoku in which thinned as one ascended higher into the peak (no matter what the founder claimed about additional training), or be tied down by four thousand and more rules carved into well-scrubbed walls. 

Yet for all the harmless judgement Lan Clan’s mountain received, there would always be people seen climbing those one thousand and ninety-nine steps, breathing through that thin Reiryoku like it was nothing, and abiding by the engraved four thousand and nineteen rules - 

With the exception of today. 

A light drift swayed the leaves of the hanging willows vines as the grey stone pavements lacked its usual ghost of footprints. Puddles of water left from the snow only made his home seem more desolate, but Lan Zhan could spare little for the emptiness at the moment. He continued to stride forward, elegant in his steps, clutching the letter in his hand until it crinkled. 

Worry sank like lead in his stomach, and Lan Zhan’s fingertips were ice cold; it had nothing to do with the Cloud Recesses’s weather. _Xiong-zhang._

After word had spread about the main perpetrator Ryoka and his rule-breaking band of misfits, it had caused nearly every free member of the Lan Clan to leave the recesses of home in an attempt of keeping up the good name of their clan. Many good buildings and walls had been struck down by the various battles that had taken place throughout Seireitei, but the panic lied in knowing that there were even more Shinigami buried underneath the rubble. 

Bound by their honour and rules, the Lans were one of the first to lend a hand wherever it was needed. From carrying bodies inside or outside the Fourth, to delivering stacks of paperwork from one barrack to another, men and women dressed in white robes and ribboned foreheads swept through the maze of pathways cleanly.

There was almost no one left behind at the Gusu Lan Clan’s home as a result. Even most of the elders were out, busy piling on work that their old bones could still carry. Trailing beside him, Lan Zhan’s hell butterfly had informed him of his uncle’s concern regarding his brother ever since he’d found out about Jin Guangyao’s traitorous alliance with Sosuke Aizen. 

Former captain of the 9th Division, Nie Mingjue’s death had forced his older brother into short seclusion once already. From the letter he sent to Lan Zhan - probably just to drag things out longer because the messenger birds took ages to ascend and descend due to the frigid mountain air - Lan Xichen implied to do the same once more. And for an undisclosed amount of time, which spelt nothing good. 

Over a span of one hundred years and two of Lan Xichen’s sworn brothers were already dead. One literally, and the other in his eyes, anyway.

Lan Zhan wouldn’t allow it. 

_“Wei Ying, come back to Gusu Lan with me.” _

_Despite Lan Zhan’s pleading, the man before him refused to look at him. His broad back turned, torn and dark robes fluttering in the wind. Wei Ying’s Zanpakuto spirit was silent and loyally standing beside him despite his master’s newfound powers. _

_Unsurprising, for Suibian had always been very… carefree in nature even though he held a serious appearance. From the start, he had taken everything in stride and Wei Ying’s hollowfication did little to disrupt the close bond between them. _

_“Get lost,” Wei Ying said. _Get lost,_ a piercing contrast with the young man who always whined the opposite in teasing coyness. It was his turn to beg now. Lan Zhan called his name, “Look at me, Wei Ying.” Please, “Look at me.” _

_But his love had not. _

The black and white rabbit charms swinging back and forth from Bichen’s sheathe paused in time with his steps and Lan Zhan roughly swallowed the guilt and disappointment he aimed towards himself. It was untowards to even think he could control his brother. Lan Zhan was acting like he had learned nothing over the past century.

At the very least, Lan Zhan hoped that his presence could ease his brother’s heart a little? When he’d lost Wei Ying, Lan Xichen had been crucial in helping him get back on his feet. The love between the trio of sworn brothers may not have been the same kind of love he held for Wei Ying, but love was love and loss never hurt less. 

Under any other circumstances, especially after the attack of the Ryoka, Lan Zhan should be dedicating as many hours as possible in his office and leading his men so that they won’t run about like a flock of headless chickens. He’d like to think he trained his Lieutenant well, however, and trusted Hisagi-fukutaicho to hold the fort down for a while. 

Because A-Yuan turned out alright, hadn’t he? If his teachings could work on a child who grew to never cause troubles, then surely, it would work even better on an adult who’d lived three times A-Yuan’s one hundred and thirty something years of life. 

Lan Zhan had taught his adopted son everything in his arsenal, carefully raising him while keeping Wei Ying’s and A-Yuan’s happiness at heart. Would Wei Ying be proud if they met again in the cycle of reincarnation? Would he smile at him again?

During his second last year at the academy, A-Yuan was offered 20th seat from merit alone. One hundred and thirteen years later, the boy had climbed his way to 8th seat and was said to be one of the most talented graduating Shinigami of the century. 

Lan Zhan patted down his robes and shrugged off the building worry and insecurity. His fingers twitched to play the familiar strings of Inquiry. Lan Xichen’s loss was doing an excellent job in unravelling the raw grief he normally kept under tight wraps after decades of practice. Peeling it off by the seams, thread after thread and layer by layer, the sphere of red strings that hid something precious was coming apart. 

“Xiong-zhang,” Lan Zhan announced his presence after a moment’s consideration, hand resting on the handle of the paper door. 

“Wangji,” came the weak response inside. “This brother apologises, but he is in no state to see you right now. Please, return back to your office, I will send you a hell butterfly when I am well.”

Strangely enough - though not really - Lan Zhan didn’t believe him. 

Yes, his brother would get back to him once he felt as if his heart wasn’t growing sets of teeth bearing the sole purpose of taking chunks of his lungs out at every breath; what he meant was, based on personal experience, Lan Zhan understood that ‘well’ was probably centuries away - if ever. He had to offer comfort right _now _else the bleeding continued to pour instead of clot. 

“I will not leave,” he said, letting the stubborn note of that fateful night from years ago seep in. Last he had, thirty officers, two Lieutenants, and one Division Captain had gotten injured. His uncle himself had given Lan Zhan the same number of scars in return. He’d do it all over again if he had to because that sort of rule breaking was reserved for loved ones. 

Loved, like his brother was as well. The burden of family that Lan Zhan happily carried because it was only natural and it made him strong in heart and mind and body. 

His Xiong-zhang, seemingly immune to his intention even though he’d never been before, refused to bend for this little brother. “I need time,” Lan Xichen said, “I need time as the Gotei need you.” Then softer, and Lan Zhan could imagine his gentle but saddened smile, “Wangji, thank you for worrying, but I won’t be down for long. I am the head of the clan, after all. My duties would not allow me to.”

Lan Zhan huffed. Lan Xichen’s duties were also a problem!

“No,” he steeled himself firmly, “Xiong-zhang should take your time. I will take care of everything.”

“I cannot within good faith have you-”

“I want to,” Lan Zhan interrupted, and he was firm with every word after, “I will. Xiong-zhang deserves to grieve as he has allowed me to.”

Lan Zhan heard a soft sound come from his brother, not unlike a sigh of relief. “Thank you, A-Zhan.”

“No need,” he replied sincerely, “I will leave now.” Lan Zhan fiddled with the rabbit charms as he Shunpo-ed his way back down into his office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a peek into what's happening on LWJ's side. Also, a first glimpse of Suibian and his personality. I've been getting distracted with writing a crossover: the witcher x mdzs fic lately, so this has been at the corner of my mind even though it's actually my fav mdzs work (shh dun tell the other works I said that) haha. 
> 
> (This chapter takes place in the present, if you're confused.)
> 
> Stay safe and strong, everyone. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! Lave a Kudos and comment if you did. I love reading them and knowing what you think! :D


	9. 九

If Ichigo thought that two spiritual beings in his head was a crowd, having three of them felt like a loose plot from American television, the beginning of his despise for every single frame of flashy drama acted in petty grudges and unbearable miscommunication. Most importantly though, conducted by too many teenagers for anyone’s good, much less Ichigo’s.

It had been his guilty pleasure to binge on these kinds of shows for the sole reason it was so bad it released a wave of endorphins through Ichigo’s shrivelling brain cells. Everything was a dick measuring contest, and he wasn’t talking about the cast having to necessarily wield swords like they were compensating for something.

The shows usually started like this – too much noise, too much confusion, too much ego packed in a single room. There would often be violence shadowing the tense form of whoever’s face came on screen first, destined for a path of two seasons of progressively bad decisions and unnecessary romances.

Ichigo loved it for the surety that everything would be alright. The knowing that among the violence and bad blood and unhelpfully immortal antagonists, the show wasn’t real no matter how real his frustration was whenever he progressed towards the next episodes because the protagonist didn’t deserve to be granted half their problems and stupidity.

Behind the screen, Ichigo could easily imagine the weight and heat of his laptop perched on his lap, its harsh glare of light almost painful if the room was too dark. He usually groaned over the internal workings of the people on whatever he was watching.

The difference of fiction and real life was that Ichigo’s opportunities to bemoan his own internal workings were either by threat of death or troublesome – _terrifying, _because facing one’s demons wasn’t as cool as CGI made it out to be. Ichigo didn’t get a theme song or background music, his life was very much at stake here. In real life, Ichigo ignored internal stuff and narrowed his focus into external stuff. Violence was what Ichigo chose to keep an eye out for.

(He was, at this point, made for it.)

See Exhibit A: The flutter of the old man’s tattered cloak that appeared to expand behind him like the collar of a provoked betta fish. He stood stiffer than a newly baked clay gargoyle left in the sun, sleeved with the air of an antagonist and a mentor, someone whose tragedy was likely written in his backstory. His bespectacled gaze was unwavering from Ichigo’s newest uninvited guest. It was a mystery if his muteness and unreadable expression was intentional.

Heart tightening, Ichigo’s baser instincts that habitually referred to the only informed figure apparent was receiving mixed signals in the sense there were none. He had no non-verbal cues to read and act upon, no idea if he should be throwing a fuss at whatever – _whoever_ it was Wei Wuxian invited into his mindscape of smooth cut glass and cloudless skies.

Silence was the reigning theme, and even Shiro was being as quiet as death, bone-white wrist strained on the hilt of his cleaver. He looked contemplative but ultimately weary. The cocky, taunting, maniacal persona Shiro played like his life’s purpose was incomprehensibly compressed into something muted but no less present. The predator in the room was not killed, but if Ichigo didn’t know better, he might’ve read a semblance of respect from the Hollow. 

Too noisy, Ichigo had thought, like the frat party scenes his post-finals Netflix playlist was so fond of in opening episodes. That had high schoolers who were discounted from school uniforms, lives more involved in alcohol and socialising than Ichigo will ever be comfortable actually experiencing. Pin drop could be heard from miles away at the moment, and yet Ichigo felt like the air was thicker than smoke, suffocating.

It was a type of noise in a way. The hot spark of frustration and irritation brought forth with the experience was the same. Whatever subtle nonsense Ichigo was oblivious to was sorted into the same category as pollution. The old man’s unnatural stillness, Shiro’s unnerving quiet, they fed off each other like snakes coiled and ready to strike.

Bloodshed seemed to dwell on the horizon; the foreshadow of it thick enough Ichigo almost expected red to paint his soul’s skies without permission. He’d have to conjure a lot of sadness to wash the colour, and though Ossan and Shiro disliked it when it rained, Ichigo supposed an exception could be made this time around.

Patience in suspension really wasn’t Ichigo’s forte. He’d rather much address the elephant in the room pressed into the skin of a man wearing dark, tattered robes, who looked like Wei Wuxian’s twin that was somehow dropped into the pits of hell from birth but managed to crawl out and look good as he’d done so.

Ichigo still didn’t know his name. Long enough was the time he’d taken just standing here staring blatantly at Wei Wuxian’s twin like he held the answers to an exam nobody studied for, conveniently forgetting the meaning of rudeness because something so objective never stopped Ichigo from beating up social constructs with his fists before.

He stared even though it went against every common mother’s teaching of _don’t stare, don’t point._ He stared even though he _knew_ his squinted gaze was undoubtedly as unpleasant as it was unwelcoming because that was exactly the point.

Wei Wuxian had snapped him into his inner mind like he did so every other weekday, flying over any informative details Ichigo may or may not have appreciated for someone who admittedly signed himself up for Shinigami business under Urahara’s secretive, morally dubious ways. Also, very notably, someone who was now suffering from being possessed by his inner demon who would hopefully – very hopefully – calm the fuck down once Ichigo and Wei Wuxian’s delegated spiritual doctor got their shit together.

To be fair, Ichigo’s fault in all this was actually skimpy at best. He had many one too many honourable reasons for… getting _involved_ (“Emotionally invested,” Shiro jeered.) during the past few months and it was stupid to actually blame himself when lives were on the line. It changed little about how Ichigo felt an awful lot like someone who’d glossed through the terms and conditions of a contract.

Honestly, his hero complex was biting him back in the ass and something in Ichigo’s brain must be malfunctioning because his reaction to the drama was essentially a careless, temporary safety net declaration of _oh, I’m not eighteen yet,_ and was thus safe from being legally bound by said aforementioned contract. No second guesses, no regrets.

His _life._

Ichigo staved down the mocking scoff of air gathering in his lungs.

Scrutinising Wei Wuxian’s twin seemed like the next best thing.

Ichigo’s temper began to rise at the weighted standstill. Everyone seemed too caught up with their heads up their asses to actually get anything done. He decided briefly he could wait. Minutes and hours moves unpredictably here anyway; it was a snail’s pace one moment and then a cheetah’s sprint the next.

His resolve dissolved just as quick. “Hey,” Ichigo said, attracting the attention of Wei Wuxian’s twin and Shiro’s. The old man’s jaw clenched, head moving stiffly at Ichigo’s direction. “When are you,” he jutted his chin at the dark robed stranger, “going to introduce yourself? My hair’s going to go white at this rate.”

Shiro cackled; the bastard had humour dryer than the dessert on a good day and bloodier than any health-acceptable raw steak on a normal one.

“My master named me Chenqing,” the twin – Chenqing said, and he looked a mix of proud and reverent, smirking at Ichigo like he should be honoured the guy was _bestowing_ Ichigo his name. Ichigo supposed there was a meaning behind Chenqing that he missed because it wasn’t Japanese. Chinese, perhaps, since it was the closest relative.

There was something odd though, unaligned to what Ichigo knew about Shinigami and Zanpakuto and names in this context. “Wei Wuxian named you?”

He had believed Zanpakuto named themselves. While Chenqing was unconventional in the sense he was out and about and in Ichigo’s inner world, the point was Zangetsu had his name beforehand just like Shiro did even if the Hollow refused to tell. It sat uncomfortably learning about the prospect of a nameless soul when Ichigo kind of had the belief a Zanpakuto’s individual identity and personality were Big Deals for Shinigami.

He couldn’t imagine naming Zangetsu what he was. It felt… disrespectful somehow. Like there would crack open a power imbalance in face of the responsibility of such a thing. He was no master to Zangetsu and vice versa. Especially when more often than not, it was Ichigo on the receiving end of help and advice.

Besides, if Shiro, the obviously intelligent and sentient Hollow was actually stuck as Shiro for the rest of his life, Ichigo guessed he’d probably be a little murderous towards whoever named him too. The neighbour’s dog had a more creative name. C’mon.

Chenqing tilted his head curiously. The dark haired spirit then beamed, delighted expression brightening his pale parlour and slightly sunken cheeks. The teeth exposed from his widening smile was all sharp and pearl white; Chenqing was clearly eager to bite down on Ichigo so he’d listen to the lore behind his name fully even if the sky fell half-way through. Shiro made an unidentifiable gutted sound, and turning to see him, the Hollow feigned a yawn that fooled nobody.

“Indeed,” Chenqing drawled, by then which Ichigo humoured him by sitting down crossed legged, palm pressed upward on his chin and elbow on the meat of his thigh.

“There is a poem from where my master’s origin resides. The author was stamped for Diyu–”

“Is that another soul society?” Ichigo interrupted to ask, innocent curiosity piquing its head.

“Close enough.” Chenqing seemed genuinely glad to answer; “Well asked, Ichigo,” he praised, “there are billions of people in the world. One will not fit all, so the plus souls from China are spirited mostly to Diyu rather than the soul society you know. But as I’ve said, my master is well read –”

“No you didn’t,” Ichigo interrupted for a second time. It was done with the knowledge Chenqing was likely not very big on stabbing him for the snark – Wei Wuxian’s good intentions lingering between them. Ichigo was entitled to some entertainment anyway; Aizen wasn’t going to stab himself.

“Quiet.” The word was said rather irritably, but Ichigo was hard pressed to not take it personally because Chenqing’s following snort simply screamed amusement. 

“For fuck sake, just get to the fucking point,” Shiro complained.

“_I wished to set forth my thoughts and explain my actions: I little dreamed that this would be held a crime_,” Chenqing recited smoothly, beautifully, wistfully. And then the reflective glass of the buildings had started to dance with green flame. The day was swiftly erased, shifting into night, murders of crows blanketing the once clear blue expanse of skies. Their cries echoed loudloud_loud_ –

A round freckled moon rose above Chenqing’s head, fat and bright, its deceptively soft rays harshly cleansing the tint of green light reflecting off Ichigo’s skin. Chenqing’s silver eyes, like Wei Wuxian’s, like Urahara’s, weren’t silver anymore.

They glowed a brilliant scarlet.

Ossan suddenly disappeared from the clearing and Ichigo was helpless to stop the inevitability of whatever was happening. For some reason, Shiro went untouched, and his trademark manic grin had dropped for a wry twist of his lips. The Hollow drew his blade. The smooth arch of the motion seemed to slice through the sickly light.

The eyes of the crows mimicked Chenqing’s. At that moment, their ebony beaks were sharper than any blade blessed with soul.

“Aizen has done us great injustice, Ichigo.” Chenqing twirled something long in one hand. It was a flute. _Why?_

“And though it’s unbecoming of us to burden a child with ploys you’ve yet to fully understand, know that you have my thanks and support,” he tossed up the flute into the air and grabbed it as it dropped. Nimble fingers curled around the instrument, “and my powers should you need it. Like you do right now. My master does not expect you to fight all his battles for him, but you must grow strong to survive for Aizen will not leave you alone. For my master cannot be in two places at once.”

Chenqing touched his chapped lips to the mouthpiece, introducing haunting notes that had no excuse to sound as beguiling as it did as Ichigo’s inner world transformed into an absolute nightmare. At the corner of Ichigo’s vision, he saw Shiro slump forward and drop to his knees. Ichigo was still seated, just realising how his eyelids started to feel heavy as his mind tuned a pleasant fuzz.

The music tapered off seamlessly. Chenqing’s voice was a hypnotic lull; “Listen to him,” he said. “Feel as he does, think as he does. You are not enemies.”

Ichigo’s insides were burning, melting. His heartbeat slowed and when he tried to lift his head, the strain on his neck didn’t go unnoticed. Ichigo reached for his face, surprised at the sharp prod of claws on solid bone.

He ran his hand over the tip of the horns he no doubt had at the moment. Looking down, Ichigo practically predicted the gape where his heart should be. “Shiro,” Ichigo rasped. He felt overheated, _boiling._ Sweat glistened on his skin, and if Ichigo was in the right mind, he’d swore they were furthermore evaporating in a sizzle just as quick.

“Ichigo,” Shiro returned, equally as slurred and hoarse. The double toned voice sounded too far and too close simultaneously.

“Why do you fight?”

“Why do _you_ fight?” Shiro asked back, for once not sarcastic or malicious or mocking.

It was like Chenqing had connected their hearts and minds. Black smoke wafted from the body’s pores. Not far away, the same black smoke curled around Chenqing’s flute like an affectionate cat seeking attention.

Ichigo inhaled deeply, exhaled. “I fight to protect what's mine.”

The ugly laughter that left their lips wasn’t his. Shiro was a mirror of self-depreciation and drugged honesty, “_I _fight to protect what’s mine.”

Both were miles away from full understanding and acceptance – matters as delicate as this were stupid to rush – but for the first time since Ichigo had met Shiro, he forced himself to recall his abrasive attitude and murderous tendencies, the anger so prominent in his violence whenever he took over Ichigo’s body.

For the first time since Ichigo had met Shiro, he thought he understood a fraction of this creature born from his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like SuperDone!Ichigo, okay? Don't @ me. 
> 
> Also, Chenqing!! I was admittedly more focused on just binge writing Ichigo's thoughts and stuff to really get Chenqing's personality out there, but I do hope y'all like what you're reading so far. Leave a Kudos and comment if you did! They are like my best triggers of happy hormones.
> 
> Stay safe and strong, everyone.


End file.
